The Boy Who Laughed
by notsomuch
Summary: Ron's thoughts during the Final Battle. Minor RHr.


Hey everyone, this is my first fic, I hope you enjoy!

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The Boy Who Laughed

They stood back to back, breathing hard and raggedly. Ron could feel his friends' shoulders heaving against him. He reached his hand behind him and searched desperately for Hermione's. He found it, and their wet and dirty hands laced fingers for a minute. He gave Harry a pat on the arm, but his comfort went unnoticed.

Harry's whole life had been leading up to this moment. He was focused on one thing: destroying Voldemort. He was willing to give up everything: his future, his friends, even his life, if that's what it took to get this done. Harry had become a shell, a robot, a warrior. He couldn't be distracted from his goal, and Ron didn't want to be the cause of that.

Then it was time to go again. He watched his best friend run off to his left, towards the back of the school. Harry was off to face his destiny, whether it all ended for him here or not. He faced his fears and ran like a soldier. Hermione went off to his right, but not too far. They were tied together, and too afraid and stupid and cautious and attached to leave each other's sight.

That was the most terrifying thing. Ron realized he didn't even care about his own life. He had been afraid all along that when it came down to something like this, he would never be able to play the hero, as he had always imagined, or even dreamed. He imagined himself cowering and taking the easy way out. But love truly was the most powerful force, the most powerful magic. He loved everyone he was fighting with; he loved his family, his friends, his teachers. He loved the life he was living, his home, his school, this world: this wizarding world that was all he had ever known and loved. He was so attached to everything in this war, the exact opposite of Harry, who had blocked out every emotion and just focused on what he had to do. But did that make Ron stupid? He didn't know if he could function in that shell of a life that Harry had. But his emotions, all his strong feelings of love and hatred, were spurring him on to fight, to do amazing things that he never could have imagined even in his wildest dreams.

But he didn't care about himself, whether he was the hero, or whether he lived or died. He finally, finally realized that this whole thing was bigger than him. This was about the fate of the wizarding world, not the fate of one 18-year-old wizard. That fact alone filled him with enough confidence. It was the confidence and the faith and the love and the fear of all those other people who weren't fighting next to him. All the people in their homes, with their families, praying it would all be over soon, that Voldemort and his Death Eaters would finally, once and for all, be defeated.

But he also fought for all those other people that couldn't be here fighting, that had already fought their bravest fights. Like Sirius, who had been so clever and so talented and so brave, and fought Voldemort and his followers till the end. He was still with us in some respects, but Ron knew he would've given anything to be out on that muddy field with the rest of them, shooting curses at the Death Eaters who had bested him so many times before. For Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of his time, who even in his old age had managed to hold his own against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. His own mother! His mother, who raised seven children to have the same amazing and brave and caring and loving spirit that she herself possessed, was killed trying to protect one of her own! He would fight for her, and everyone else who wished they could be the one to "Avada Kedavra" Voldemort. Ron turned to face the sight in front of him.

It was everything fantastic and horrifying and beautiful and ugly and amazing. There was yelling and screaming and curses flying and bodies falling and there were lights and rain and water and fire. There was love and hate and fear and anger and loathing and sorrow and triumph and every other emotion you could fathom. People were dying all around him. Lives were being changed, violently altered, and this was the final battle that was going to change the wizarding world forever.

There was a rush of blood in his veins, as if his blood had suddenly boiled. He let out a primal scream, unlike any sound he had ever made, or would ever make again, and charged towards the crowd of Death Eaters. His wand seemed to fly in all directions at once, accompanied by a constant stream of curses interspersed with random obscenities. It was an amazing feeling, fighting alongside all these people he admired so much.

Alongside his baby sister, Ginny, who, along with him, had lost so much. So much of their big, beautiful, loving family. Her childhood innocence was gone long ago. He knew that, as did she. She was a young woman now, and beautiful in her spirit, and her, love, and the fact that she was so much like their mother. He knew she was fighting for her, and for Fred and George as well. But she also fought for Harry, whom she had loved so much, but knew she could never have. Just another tragic loss in an already tragic life.

And Neville, who had already exceeded everyone's expectations. The once bumbling, awkward, forgetful boy was already a hero in his own right. He had bravely and skillfully killed the evil woman who had tortured his own parents into insanity. Ron knew that was enough for Neville, but the boy still kept on fighting, for the fate of the wizarding world.

Alongside Hermione. Hermione, the girl who had essentially given up her safe and quiet life in the Muggle world to risk her life fighting for a cause she believed in. Hermione, who had kept on them all through school and the Order, making them do their homework, and practice extra hard, and who had gotten them out of so many jams that neither he nor Harry would still be here now if it weren't for her. Hermione, the smartest witch of her age, who Ron could hear shouting spells he had never even heard of before. Hermione, who he had fallen in love with before he even knew what love was. Hermione, who loved him back, and who waited patiently for so many years for him to sort out his feelings. Hermione, who was the only thing keeping Ron going through the terrible experiences that had marked him this year. Hermione, who had stolen his heart with her first bossy word, and refused to give it back.

And finally, alongside Harry. Harry Potter, "The Boy Who Lived". But did he really live? Is that what life was? Harry was a regular boy, with regular feelings, maybe extraordinary talents, but he was just a regular boy at heart. A boy who had lost every person he had ever loved, fighting for the same cause that was so important to him. Harry Potter, who had been born with such an unfair price on his head, and unfair responsibilities, and unfair expectations, from the time he was just a little boy. He was still a boy, but a boy more than willing to give his life to vanquish his enemy. Harry had grown up faster than any child should. He had been constantly bombarded for the past seven years with responsibilities that should have been way too much for him to handle. Yet he, too, had exceeded everyone's expectations to a startling degree. He was everyone's savior, in the end. Everyone knew that it all rested on his shoulders, his strong, yet frail and bony shoulders. The responsibility to kill the most powerful and evil wizard who had ever lived. The Boy Who Lived, but at what cost? Whether he survived that night in Godric's Hollow was inconsequential, for he was permanently marked, not just with the notorious lightning-bolt scar that had brought him so much unwelcome attention, but with the eventuality that he held everyone's lives in his hands. The Boy Who Lived, if you could call that a life.

On that thought, Ron's attention was diverted by a painfully bright flash of green light off to his left. He looked away for a moment, and saw that the moment everyone had anticipated, had expected and welcomed and feared, had arrived. Twenty yards from Ron, Harry stood unwavering, his wand bonded with Voldemort's. A beam of amazingly bright green light held the two together, as they slowly started to float up from the ground. The battle around Ron faded into the background as he and Hermione both turned to see the fate that awaited them all.

Harry and Voldemort floated 10 feet above the muddy ground, grasping their wands tightly and staring intently into each other's eyes. Startling green met demonic crimson without hesitation. A tiny bead developed in their beam of light and the game was on. Back to the graveyard, the same battle of wills. Except Harry didn't have Dumbledore's help this time, there was no phoenix song ringing in his ears. But he was also not the same frightened little boy he had been back then, either. He was a man now, a fearless man unflinching in the face of his fate.

But Voldemort would not be made a fool. He would not be outdone by this boy. Last time he had been foolish, and had not expected the boy to be so powerful. But this time, there would be no games. He was going to destroy this boy, Dumbledore's little savior, and finally claim what was rightfully his.

Ron watched the struggle between the two, finally seeing what Harry had been talking about for so many years. The tiny bead seemed so inconsequential, as it twitched in the middle of the beam. But he knew that bead would determine the outcome of this entire war. Ron looked at Harry, cool and confident, holding his wand tightly in his right hand, standing firmly where there was no ground to stand on, head held high to meet Voldemort. Ron watched as Voldemort grasped his wand with both hands and tightened his grip, sending the tiny bead slowly in Harry's direction.

Ron heard Hermione's breath hitch behind him, and he wanted to turn to look at her, but he couldn't turn his eyes away from the sight before him. All motions, all thoughts, everything, stopped as that bead moved slowly, oh so slowly, towards the tip of Harry's wand. Ron wasn't afraid, he wasn't sad, he wasn't disappointed in Harry. He just watched and waited. The bead moved closer, closer, closer, no more than a foot away now. Harry tore his gaze off of Voldemort and looked at the bead, as if in genuine surprise. It was at this moment, where an evil, almost satisfied smile began to curve Voldemort's mouth. It was at this moment, that Ron's stomach dropped.

But then, Harry suddenly turned and looked at them. He and Hermione. And it was amazing, so beautiful and amazing. Harry had a huge smile on his face. It wasn't even a smile, it was like he was laughing without moving or making any sound. There was so much happiness in that one expression, more happiness than Ron had seen in his best friend's face in years. He looked like the boy he first met on the train, the boy who laughed at his chocolate frogs, and his silly stories, and his crazy family. The happy boy who was so excited to leave the horrible treatment of his aunt and uncle. The boy who thought that his introduction to the wizarding world would be his saving grace. Little did he know that he was signing his own life away.

But Ron had watched, over the past seven years, as that smile, that light in his eyes got dimmer and dimmer. Some of that sparkle was gone when he had emerged from the third task of the Triwizard Tournament with Cedric's lifeless body. And those green eyes were never quite as bright after he lost Sirius. He was never quite the same after that.

But now Harry looked at Ron and Hermione with all the happiness and joy they had ever seen out of him. His eyes were vividly green once again, and all the sparkle was there. He had this excited expression on his face, as if he had just realized the greatest thing and couldn't wait to tell them. The battered and beaten man had once again become the innocent and jovial little boy. And Ron and Hermione couldn't help but smile back. At that, Harry turned back to Voldemort. And just as the bead was kissing the tip of his wand, he grasped the wand tightly with both hands and gently nudged the bead.

Suddenly, the bead flew back towards Voldemort, but when it reached the center of the beam, it exploded into a giant ball of bright pink and orange light. Both Harry and Voldemort were thrown backwards. Voldemort flew 50 feet and landed in a heap of tattered black fabric on the muddy ground, laying perfectly still. Harry flew backwards but was stopped abruptly as he hit the stone wall of Hogwarts with a sickening thud and slid down the wall, landing on the ground in a crumpled heap.

Ron started as Hermione let out a cry and fell to the ground behind him. Instead of turning to comfort her, he looked out at the rest of the battle, which raged on, everyone but the two of them oblivious that the war was really over.

Ron sprang into action, running as fast as he could into the fray. He shouted out curses with such strength and fervor that some even shot through one death eater and into the one behind him. He heard Hermione behind him, screaming out curses through her sobs, as her spells flew past him to their targets. The Death Eaters still fought fearlessly, unaware that their leader had been beaten, that they had lost. But they were down to a dwindling number. Ron had no idea how many of the Order were left, and it didn't matter, because it was almost over. They would win.

When the last Death Eater fell to the ground, Ron finally turned to look behind him. He saw his friends, his family, scattered about the field, chests heaving, wands at their sides. It still hadn't sunken in yet. Some started crying. Others looked around in a sort of stunned confusion. Ron turned on his heel and began to slowly walk towards the heap of black fabric across the field. When he reached it, he kicked it aside to see Voldemort's face. It was distorted in pain, and frozen in death. But Ron wasn't about to leave him there. For his mother, for his brothers, and now, for his best friend, he pointed the tip of his wand to Voldemort's pale, waxy, forehead, and growled the killing curse.

He kicked the body once again, for good measure, and turned to walk back to the school. The only sound was Hermione's muffled sobs, and he went to her, still sitting like a lost and frightened child, on the ground where she had fallen when Harry had come down. He took her in his arms and held her tightly to him. She renewed her sobbing into is chest, her tears mixing with the rain and blood already soaking his shirt. He held her for a while, his chin resting in her tangled curls. It began to sink into him, that it was over, that this is what he had left, this is what he would live for. He and Hermione, till the end. He held her until she ran out of tears.

She stepped back and looked up at him with watery eyes. Ron looked back down at her, his gaze then shifting to the crumpled heap lying twenty feet away. He let go of Hermione and headed towards the pile. He slowly approached it, afraid yet not surprised at what he would find. It wasn't until he carefully rolled Harry over and saw the smile still painted on his face, now permanent, that his heart finally cracked open and the tears began to fall. He looked back to see Hermione standing behind him, her hand over her mouth. Then, without a word, Ron picked up his friend's broken body and hoisted it over his shoulder. Hermione put her arm around his waist either to steady him, or to steady her own shaking legs.

They walked slowly across the lawn, the Golden Trio, together one last time. The rest of the Order was now hugging and crying and celebrating their victory. As Ron and Hermione passed, each person looked up, the smiles fading from their faces. Some nodded in resignation, others let out a cry of despair.

They paused for a moment when they reached Ginny, her flaming red hair sticking to the sweat and grime on her face. Her face crumpled when she saw him, and she began to cry, but not a single tear fell. She grabbed Ron's hand and squeezed it lightly, forcing a smile at him. She let out a sob as she turned and placed a light kiss on Harry's forehead.

Ron and Hermione walked on, drawing stares from their family and friends. They finally reached their destination, the school steps. Professor Lupin, blood dripping from his temple, was discussing something with Mr. Weasley. They both turned, smiles fading from their faces as they saw what was before them. Mr. Weasley closed his eyes and shook his head as Ron gently placed Harry on the lowest step. Remus screwed up his face in an effort not to cry, as he bent down to the body of the boy who had become as close as a son to him. He reached out his hand and brushed the fringe over the scar that Harry had hated so much, the scar that no longer mattered. He then looked up at Ron without a word, his eyes speaking volumes of the question he couldn't bear to ask. Ron slowly nodded his head, and Lupin smiled, looking back down at Harry.

There was no sound, except for the wind blowing through the trees, making a sound like distant laughter.

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Comments greatly appreciated, _constructive_ criticism welcomed. : D 


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